


After All We Lost

by Celticblair



Category: HTTYD, How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Greek Mythology References, Love, Paris - Freeform, Romance, War violence, World War One, angsty but also fluff, medical description of war injuries, post world war one, recognizing a fellow wounded soul, violent death scene
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:29:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27490495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celticblair/pseuds/Celticblair
Summary: Set in post WW1 Paris. Astrid is a former Red Cross nurse who meets German air pilot Henrik Haddock in a shop to repair broken men.
Relationships: hiccstrid
Comments: 104
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Armistice Day! I very intentionally wanted to post on 11/11 at 11. To honor all of those who have served and to those who have lost their lives as a way to not forget the past. 
> 
> I hope to upload every other week on Wednesday. I’m a mum and life could get in the way but for now I can guarantee for the next 10 weeks posting will be consistent. Thank you so much for reading!

Paris January 1919

The war had ended but a few months ago and after the thrill of victory wore off, Astrid was left with a feeling of being unmoored. She had spent the last few years living moment to moment as a Red Cross nurse tending to the most desperate cases of wounded soldiers. 

She was as close to the front as a nurse could get. Sometimes she could hear the mens cries of anguish and shouts for their mothers as the battles raged on. She had been given a purpose, a direction to her life, and now she was left trying to figure out what her next step would be. 

Having served primarily in France, Astrid had picked up the language. This was in order to be able to communicate with those in her care. Those who were French and needed comfort as they slipped behind the veil of this world into the next.

This was part of what spurred her decision to stay in Paris rather than return to the States and her home of St. Paul, Minnesota. She just couldn’t go home to her family so changed by what she had seen and experienced in the war. She wasn’t the Astrid they knew two years ago. She wasn’t sure if she could ever truly be confronted with the expectation to be that girl again. 

She looked for work in the medical field and found herself in front of an unassuming shop that she had heard about through her nursing contacts. The Copper Nose Shop, as it was colloquially referred to, was really just Georges Gobber’s shop. He specialized in facial prosthetics for men who had lost a nose or part of their face during the war as well as other typical arm and leg prosthetics.

Astrid was interested in the work of repair after so much destruction. It felt like this might be a place she could heal her battered soul as well. 

The bell of the arched door announced her presence with a melodic ting. Georges Gobber was sitting in a chair that looked two sizes too small for the man. He sat across from a soldier he was fitting on a prosthetic. It was a nose attached to a pair of spectacles. He turned slowly towards the sound to see who had come in.

“Bonjour” he greeted. 

“Bonjour Monsieur Gobber” she replied “My name is Astrid Hofferson and I am here to enquire about the assistant position.” 

Monsieur Gobber rose up from the chair as it groaned underneath him. 

“Ah excellent! As you can see I could always use another hand!” He laughed jovially as he lifted up his prosthetic left arm. 

Astrid returned a kind smile, glad of the knowledge that there was a use for her here. 

“Let me just finish up with the Private here and I can help get you settled into what we do in my little shop,” he instructed in his bouncy French accent. 

She observed quietly noting the young man in front of Monsieur Gobber was relatively relaxed and she thought to herself that perhaps it was easier having the prosthetic put on by someone who is also missing a piece of themselves. As he went to adjust the arms of the spectacles Astrid could see just how severe of an injury this man had endured. 

He was missing more than just his nose but also the top lip exposing his front teeth in a rather gruesome perpetual smile. When Monsieur Gobber replaced the facial prosthetic to his face the private then had a full nose and top lip. 

“Alright, young man, you are all done. Would you like to see yourself in a mirror?” he asks.

The private looks wary at first, then nods. As he looked at his new reflection, Astrid noticed the beginnings of a smile at the corner of his mouth. 

“Thank you, Monsieur Gobber!” the private exclaimed. 

“Ah think nothing of it. I’m just happy to do my bit after all you sacrificed to protect us.”

The young private stood up and excitedly and walked past Astrid into the cold January afternoon. 

“So Mademoiselle Hofferson was it?” 

“Yes, Astrid Hofferson,” she replied. 

“American, by the sounds of it.” he said with an arched eyebrow full of mirth 

“Yes, I’m from Minnesota originally. Lots of Swedes and Norwegians in that part of the country, hence the last name, Monsieur Gobber.” 

“Oh please, just call me Gobber. No need to stand on formality here. We will be working alongside closely, as long as that’s something you still want now that you see what we are dealing with here.” 

“Absolutely! I think what you do here is so needed and I would really like to be a part of it all.”

“How much experience do you have in the medical field Astrid?”

“I was on the front lines the last two years as a triage nurse taking care of the most critical cases.” she responded while looking past Gobber and taking in the shelves full of plaster faces and different tools.

Gobber put his hands on his hips with a delighted grin on his face 

“You certainly won’t be put off by what you see here then. I can imagine you have seen worse in your time. Shall we begin?”

Astrid spent the next several months learning the fine art of what it really means to reconstruct a man’s face or limb. As well as the emotional repair to a man’s sense of humanity– what had become lost to him when he became a stranger to himself. 

It was good and hard work. She threw herself into it and was also able to escape from the pressures of real life. Gobber’s shop became a welcome balm to the horrors she had witnessed. Even though they were in front of her daily, she got to rewrite the ending of so many men’s fates. Those futures that they thought were doomed to the contempt of the world. 

There were soldiers that had come to the shop who started so shy, especially at having a woman touch their injuries. Somehow, though, after the finished product, they were able to walk out with a confidence that had been sorely missing for some months, if not years of their lives. 

There was a particular soldier from Liverpool who walked in like he owned the place. He gave her a lot of guff about making sure his face turned out perfect, but could understand if she was distracted by all his lovely muscles. 

The faces she encountered were all different in what needs had to be met in the reconstruction process. That challenge kept her mind busy during the day allowing nothing else in. 

Especially considering what came to her in the dark, in the form of her nightmares. Except they weren’t nightmares as much as memories of loss, pain and destruction. She would wake up in a cold sweat, looking around her rented apartment room unsure of where she was for a moment. She could still smell the stench of metallic blood and fear as if the battle was still raging on. Oftentimes, just the touch of her crochet duvet on her hands calmed her mind. This was not the army issued wool blanket she had known and she could resume her attempts at sleeping. 

Every patient was different, but the starting stages were usually the same. Make a plaster mold of the patient's face and use that as a template to build on. A clay mold was then used to get the details and the copper was formed into the correct shape. After attaching real hair to the metal to make mustaches or eyebrows the copper was painted to match the skin tones of the soldier. 

Gobber once asked Astrid why it was so common to encounter these facial injuries, having seen so many, but never really understanding why. She explained that the men seemed to think they could quickly have a look over the trenches and still be able to move fast enough to not be hit by a barrage of bullets coming from a machine gun. “Those from fighter pilots also didn’t help the matter.” she murmured. 

By late summer, Astrid became an integral part of Gobber’s shop. She worked a bit on the facial prosthetics, but really seemed to have a knack for the soldiers that came in with missing appendages.  
She was able to understand the needs of the overall designs for function, but also the rehabilitation of using that limb in a practical application. Gobber mostly referred those patients to her first, while he worked on the other side of the practice. 

~~~¥¥¥~~~  
Henrik Haddock was barely 17 when he started training to be a pilot. He felt like he had found something that was made for him. To be in flight and the intricacies of the mechanics of a metallic “dragon” thrilled him. He felt a freedom that didn’t exist in his childhood.

He grew up in a small German town near the city of Köln. Henrik’s father was the Mayor of the town and this brought with it certain expectations for who Henrik should be. His future was all laid out for him. He would one day take over from his father and become mayor. Henrik yearned for a life not like the one planned, but one full of adventure. 

Then, war was declared, after the Archduke of Austria was shot and Henrik seized his chance to break free of those chains. He could never have predicted that his life would be even more constrained than it was before the war. 

Henrik was brought home before the conclusion of the war, when his plane was shot down and the crash crushed his leg in such a way that it required amputation. He woke up to a reality of dark depression over the loss of his plane, the “Night Fury”, and his ability to walk. 

When the armistice was announced, he grew further into himself knowing that all the loss of life had been for naught. Why had he survived? Why did so many of his friends have to perish? Why was he left a cripple?  
What point was there to existence? 

His family became increasingly concerned for him. He was angry and sullen, having not been able to live independently without the aid of crutches or the help of his parents since he returned home. 

One day, his father Stoick Haddock stepped into Henrik’s room with a slight knock on the door. Finding him reading a book on his bed, Stoick attempted to get his attention. 

“Umph .. er uh son...” Henrik looked up at him with blank eyes. Stoick continued awkwardly, reaching out for a hat on Henrik’s dresser and clutching it to his chest, almost crushing the brim. “I have been in contact with a friend of mine from before the war. His name is Georges Gobber. He has a shop in Paris that is receiving some notoriety for his advances in facial and limb prosthetics. He has agreed to see if there is a chance he can create a more functional leg for you.” 

Henrik sighed, laying back against his pillow. “Fine. Have him send whatever ridiculous thing he comes up with and I’ll be the proof it won’t be adequate.” He points deliberately to his missing leg. 

Henrik had been poked and prodded by several local doctors whose attempts at creating a new leg hadn’t been successful. He had developed sores and painful muscle cramping from poorly made prosthetics. This had further plunged Henrik into a state of despair.

“Ah, yes that… the caveat to this agreement is you have to go in person to Paris. Spend some time with him and maybe in a few months everything will be better for you.” Stoick smiled hopefully.

“A few months! In a country that hates me because I killed so many of their sons!! Are you out of your mind?!?” A red flush creeped up Henrik’s neck as he spoke.

“Hen-rik..” Stoick’s voice breaking on his only child’s name. “I think this is your best chance at a future. Please if not for yourself then for your mother’s sake,” he asked with pleading eyes, starting to glisten with tears.

This is how it came to pass that Henrik Haddock walked through the arched doorway of Georges Gobber’s shop and into Astrid’s life. 

~~~¥¥¥¥~~~  
Henrik Haddock, former airman of the German Flying Corps is dressed smartly in a brown tweed suit, a hat holding down, rather unruly, rust colored hair hiding clouded brunswick green eyes. He stands using crutches, bearing weight on a full right leg. His left leg ends abruptly just below the knee and his trousers are neatly pinned under it. 

“Bonjour,” greets Monsieur Gobber as he looks up from his desk. 

“Bonjour. I’m looking for a Monsieur Gobber. My father Herr Haddock said he would be expecting me.” 

Gobber gasps. “So you are Henrik! Come in, Come in! You have made it to Paris! We have been waiting for your arrival all week.” 

Only after the mention of a “we” does Henrik even register that there is someone else in the shop. He turns his head to see a flaxen haired beauty staring up at him from her desk with a firm frown on her face. Henrik’s eyes widened and he actually had to remind himself to breathe.

Monsieur Gobber interrupts his thoughts. “Astrid this is Herr Henrik Haddock he is the son of an old friend and you two will be working together.” 

Henrik turns a bright shade of red reeling from the idea that this beautiful, yet terrifying, woman would be working with him and not the rather flamboyant Frenchman, like he had anticipated. 

Astrid also feels overwhelmed by the idea that she has been given this man as her patient. Her reaction has more to do with the reality that she has not been sleeping well lately. Certainly, not the fact that this stranger is endearingly charming with his red cheeks. She shakes off those thoughts almost as soon as they enter her head. This is not the reason she got into this work just to be another cliche nurse falling for her patient. She really needs to get a hold of herself “falling for a patient” absurd!

Astrid regains her professional facade and introduces herself to Herr Haddock. “I’m Mademoiselle Hofferson and I guess we will be working together.” She can’t help but give Gobber a sideways look. Gobber just chuckles silently to himself. 

“Does Mademoiselle have a first name?” Henrik asks rather boldly. 

“Yes Mademoiselle does have a first name and it is Astrid.” 

“Astrid.” Henrik tries the name on his tongue and determines he rather likes the way it feels there.

“Please call me Mademoiselle Hofferson, though,” Astrid interjects quickly. 

“Absolutely, as you wish Milady.” Henrik further flusters Astrid by balancing on his crutches so he can use his hand to tip his hat towards her. 

She tries to move past this flirty gesture and get back to the task at hand.

“Are you settled, Herr Haddock? Or do you need to collect your luggage and come back tomorrow?” 

Hoping secretly the answer is he needs to leave, so she can have time to better prepare herself for their close interaction. Alas, it would seem the gods were conspiring against her when he states he had already come to Paris the day before and had settled into his lodgings. 

Astrid dejectedly directs Henrik to her desk and says, “I guess we shall get started on this process then.”

“As long as you are okay with taking me on as a patient.” Henrik replies a little nervously. 

“Of course she is ready to do the work. Astrid is the best there is in Paris for the type of prosthetic you’re going to need.” Gobber’s voice booms from the corner of the shop where he is adding freckles to a face. 

Astrid glares in his direction, but to no avail. Gobber is too entrenched with his detail work to even register her ferocity. She turns back to Henrik, offers him the chair directly across from herself and starts explaining her process for building him a new leg. 

“May I see your leg please?” she asks, with a harsh tone of authority.

“Oh! Yes, erm.. yes that would be… uh… yes, you can.” Henrik proceeds to undo the careful pinning on his pants, rolling it up to a little above the knee. 

“You’re fortunate they were able to save the knee. That will radically help with the overall structure of your new leg and its mobility.” 

“Yeah fortunate.” He scoffs under his breath. 

She looks up at him warily, considering for the first time since he has walked in, that this was a wounded man in possibly more ways than one. She took a moment to collect her thoughts before apologizing. 

“I’m sorry I just meant...” 

“I know what you meant and it wasn’t meant offensively. It’s just rather difficult to feel like any of this has even a modicum of positivity to it.” He glances away from her as he speaks.

“Do you mind me asking how it happened?” She asks quietly, looking at his face. It presented a storm of emotions.

In a mocking tone he says, “You’ll be glad to know it was some American flying for the French army that brought me down. I was a pilot and one grey day after flying over the trenches my aeroplane was shot down. I had to make an emergency landing that wasn’t very clean. Then I woke up and couldn’t walk.” His steely eyes pierce hers, challenging her to call him out as the enemy.

“I can assure you I am not pleased to hear of anyone being hurt. I am in the business of healing.” She tartly throws back in his face.

“Even if they are German?” He gruffly asks her.

“Yes, even if they are German.” Blue eyes blazing into cold emerald ones.

“In my work I had to care for men on both sides of the war. When captured prisoners came through our field hospital they weren’t any less human or in need of my care.”

Henrik realizes instantly his mistake in judging her. Berating himself internally for playing the offensive on his first day in the shop where people are trying to help him. Coming to a country that was once his enemy left him feeling judged the moment he spoke. It stunned him to be met with so much compassion from this Valkyrie in front of him. “I must ask for your forgiveness Mademoiselle Hofferson. It was unfair of me to assume that my nationality would come before the care that has been offered me here.”

Astrid looks at him for a moment before responding, trying to determine if he is sincere. But as soon as she meets his eyes, there is only genuine remorse in them. She nods her head gently. 

“The war was hard on all of us. We have seen and experienced things no one should ever have had to. No matter what side we fought for and it is understandable we forget the fighting is over now. I accept your apology and hope that we can move forward.” She gives him the briefest of smiles to allay any further doubts he might have. 

He looks at her, stunned, as if she has read the darkest truths of his heart. That for him the war is never really over.  
He tugs at his shirt collar, trying to let more air flow to his lungs. Henrik clears his throat from the lump that had formed as tears threaten to come to the surface. 

“Hrm..hrm. Thank you. I would very much like to move forward.”

Astrid wastes no time getting back to Henrik’s knee. She brushes her fingers against his lower thigh as she pushes his trousers up further. As she softly palpates the downy haired knee cap, she notices that the scar tissue is in rather good shape with a nice c curve to it.  
Whoever amputated Henrik’s leg had some real skills, she thinks to herself. While she is mulling over the knee and how to make a good prosthetic, she fails to notice the peculiar breathing patterns or rather lack of breathing coming from her patient. 

Henrik would never have predicted his day would come to this point, where a beautiful blonde would be tenderly touching his knee. He was doing everything he could to stamp down the electricity flowing through his leg at the moment. He was sure his face had to be the color of a tomato and was in real fear of passing out from holding his breath. It was all he could do to not grab her hand to make it stop. 

Mercifully, moments later she stops and starts to tell him what she thinks would be best to move forward with his new leg. All Henrik can do is just smile and nod. How had it been that he had fought, apologized, and now was totally discombobulated in the space of an hour in her presence? He groans internally at the thought that this may very well be a long few months but for reasons he never expected.


	2. Chapter 2

Astrid starts to gather her stuff together before she leaves the shop for the evening. She opens her brown leather case with a click and quickly shoves everything in. The last thing she needs is to be in the shop any longer with Gobber asking her questions about the German boy who has completely thrown her world off its axis. 

She says a hasty “Bonsoir Gobber” and with a ting of the bell, is out the arched doorway of the shop. Astrid walks into the brisk fall evening with the glow of the sun setting making the world golden as if by magic. She gets a few blocks away and stops in front of a brick wall suddenly to take a large breath of the bracing air and tries to collect herself. 

Huffing out deep breaths and attempting to slow the rhythm of her racing heart, Astrid takes stock of herself. Flushed cheeks, an erratic pulse, and inability to get a full breath. Who is this woman? Where has she crept up from? 

The last time Astrid could remember reacting like this from an interaction with another person was when she was 15. One of her brother’s friends, Oscar, who she had always admired, said she had finally grown into her ears. She wasn’t this person. Astrid Hofferson did NOT get flustered over men. 

Especially not German men with intense verdant green eyes. Eyes that looked at her as if they understood her and her pain. Eyes she knew saw the same reflected in hers. 

“Damn him and his eyes!” she yells softly to herself, hitting her clenched fists against the wall with a thud. Getting a few odd looks from other people passing by. 

It has been so long since the walls of defense she erected around herself had shown a crack in the mortar. These walls were what got her through those long nights during the war. Deciding who is already too far gone to do anymore than just sit with them as they died or the ones who have a chance of survival. 

Walls that helped shield her from the loss of those same soldiers when morning broke and despite best efforts, death came for them anyway. Walls that kept the world at bay. Now he had come along and her walls were being breached by this outsider. 

Astrid continues the short walk to her lodgings; a modest room, part of a boarding house that she rents from a small grey haired woman named Madame Gothi. Astrid isn’t sure she even speaks French, let alone much else, but always has the uncanny ability to communicate nonverbally. The best part of the arrangement is she isn’t expected to entertain anyone with her company and she can just be autonomous without the constant need for polite conversation. Mme Gothi has left out a plate for Astrid’s dinner and she makes quick work of eating. 

Today, more than ever, that is exactly what Astrid needs. To be alone. Although, the problem with so much solitude is that her thoughts take over and there is nothing to distract her from them.  
Making the short trek from the front dining room up the stairs and to her room on the right.  
Astrid sets her leather case on her desk; one of a few pieces of furniture in her room. She takes off her coat and hangs it on the back of the door. Taking a deep breath, she sighs because this day took a bigger toll on her than she would like to admit. 

She readies herself for bed by grabbing her cotton long sleeved nightgown that wraps around her like a familiar friend. It’s one of the few pieces of her wardrobe from before the war. It wasn’t the most practical piece during her time as a nurse. If she wasn’t sleeping in her uniform, she usually slept in her military issued wool nightgown to get her through a cold night on the front. 

Slipping into the small bed Astrid grabs the book she is currently reading hoping that sleep comes quickly and without interruption. She has the feeling, however, that someone’s green eyes might make an appearance and disturb her chances at peace this evening. 

~~~¥¥¥~~~

After a fitful night of sleep, Astrid trudges her way into the shop, bracing herself for the day. Gobber tries his best to make conversation with Astrid but it is mostly a one sided conversation. Looking at her desk she determines what would be the best place to start once Henrik arrives to get this prosthetic done. 

An hour later, Henrik walks through the doors. He is dressed in a green tweed suit, making his eyes appear more green, and wearing a beautiful smile that highlights his adorably gapped teeth. She curses slightly under her breath. Of course! He somehow has managed to look more handsome today, she thinks to herself. Taking a deep breath, Astrid pulls herself together and reminds herself to be a nurse! 

“Bonjour Herr Haddock” 

“Bonjour Mlle. Hofferson,” he says with a slight smirk.

Astrid tries not to notice the smile on his face. She looks up at him as he uses crutches to slowly approach her. She uses the analytical part of her brain to watch how his right leg moves in order to make a complementary new leg. She has Henrik sit and starts to sketch a rough draft of what she will create eventually. He sits and they make idle conversation neither of them looking each other in the eye. Just an afternoon of catching each other glancing up at the other and then violently blushing. They decide to call it a day once the prototype seems solidified. Henrik agrees to return in a week so that Astrid has time to actually work on the construction part. This time, without the distraction of seeing a freckled German boy. A boy who refuses to let up on his nervous looks in her direction, only making him more endearing. She feels like he is trying to see more than she wants the world to let know is actually there. 

After a week, Astrid has the prototype ready for Henrik to try out. Over this time she becomes less anxious about his presence in her work space and life in general. They have been having quite a few back and forth conversations about previous prosthetics Henrik had endured and why they didn’t work. It was over the course of talking that Astrid realizes what a keen mechanical brain he has. While he often got a bit too close for comfort at times, due to his excited nature over the details, she has to admit, he actually has some genuinely good ideas.

~~~¥¥¥~~~

After a fruitful day of trying on the leg and feeling that they were making good progress to allow for a normal gait, they stopped for the night. There was a moment of hesitation as they left, like neither of them were terribly keen on the idea of parting from the other. But Gobber, in true fashion, broke into the moment with “Are you two going to just stand there and look at each other all night or actually go home?” Grinning like a cheshire cat at their embarrassment. 

Once home, Astrid settles into her room.  
Henrik has this ability to be incredibly frustrating one minute and then helpful the next.  
Breathing an exasperated sigh, she looks around. Since bed isn't calling her, her mind wanders further to her patient. If she were completely honest with herself, she thought about him every night since he came to the shop. Tonight, however, she willingly entertains the thoughts instead of them just creeping in. 

If only he wouldn’t get so close where I can smell his aftershave and really see the faint freckles that are scattered on his gorgeous face. Ugh.. but once he leaves for the day I start to miss his scent. The smell of pine after a storm and just something so inexplicably Henrik. She tortures herself with these thoughts. 

Astrid turns over in her bed fluffing the pillows so she can settle in for the night and just manages to punch them rather than fluff. 

“Okay, okay I like him. I’m attracted to him. Is that what you want to hear, God?! I make it through an entire war and now you bring this German boy to completely unsettle me! Argh!” She screams into the void of darkness.  
With that release of tension, Astrid’s eyes start to droop and she finally enters the land of unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to my betas for being so supportive! I want to also thank all the readers who have liked and commented on this work. The response has been unexpected and I appreciate it so very much!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this a wee bit early this week but normally I will post at usual time. Enjoy!

Henrik Haddock is at a loss for what has happened to his life. Just over three months, ago he was packing up his life and moving to Paris for an expedition he thought would be completely fruitless. He never imagined that going to Paris would be life altering. Especially not life altering in such an unexpected way. 

He anticipated a poorly made prosthetic leg would be built and while traveling home, he would resume his use of crutches, because this too would fail. He never considered that upon walking into Georges Gobber’s shop, would he meet and fall for– no, not fall for, surely! –like, he would like -Astrid Hofferson. Henrik couldn’t remember a time in his life when so much time was spent with one person and instead of feeling overwhelmed by that, he felt energized.

He leaves the shop everyday, looking forward to the next and more than a little disappointed he has to go back to his lodgings. He decides that today he would ask her to a cafe for lunch so they could have some time together that wasn’t about his leg and without a giggling old man as chaperone. 

As he walks to his appointment, gathering his nerve to ask her. He fails to notice a flurry of blonde hair coming his direction in the form of Astrid. 

“Watch out! Oh it’s you Henrik. I’m sorry I didn’t see you there. I was running a little behind getting to work today. I overslept.” Astrid glosses over the reason she overslept was the dreams she had last night, starring the young German man before her. 

“Oh Hello Astrid..Hi Astrid.. Hi…” Henrik said, turning a bright shade of red as he notices for the first time where his hand is.. on Astrid’s waist!…. when he had reflexively tried to balance himself. 

“Excuse me..um.. sorry about that ..um just trying to catch myself on you... Ughh that didn’t come out right.” 

“Henrik it’s okay I don’t offend easily... or well I do... just, I know it was an accident.”

“Astrid, actually, I’m glad I caught you, both literally and figuratively. Erh..what I meant is I was hoping to see if you wanted to visit a cafe for lunch with me today?”

“Oh”

“If you don’t want to…”

“I think it’s an excellent idea, Henrik, thank you for asking me.” Henrik notes a particularly lovely rosiness blooming on Astrid’s face as she speaks. 

“Wonderful!” Henrik beams at her. “Shall we go in?” he asks, leaning on his crutches with his left hand extending towards the door.   
The morning passes in a flurry of red cheeks and stolen smiles. Astrid has this knot in her stomach, making her go back and forth between feeling incredibly nervous and excited. She knows that Henrik has asked her to lunch but she feels the need to keep pinching herself, to confirm it is actually something that has happened and not one of her recurring dreams. Dreams are not something she wants to dwell on in this happy moment…. Her dreams, as of late, had improved but some still terrified her. 

Henrik lightly touches Astrid’s shoulder and brings her back to the present. She smiles up brightly at the goofy and sincere gap-toothed boy. “Shall we go, Milady?”

“Yes, let’s!” She gets up from her desk and fetches her coat from the hanger by the door.

Gobber could be heard chuckling in the background as the bell tinged when the couple walks out the door. 

It is a lovely, early Spring day in Paris, the kind that has the scent of flowers in the air and brings hope to people's hearts. It is the kind of day that promises that out of the darkness of winter comes the rebirth of life into spring. 

Henrik notes that Astrid slows her pace to keep up with him on his crutches. It, both, makes him glad that she isn't embarrassed to be seen with him and sad that he isn't a physical match for her. He focuses on the way the sunlight makes the color of her eyes look almost like glass they are such a clear blue. Astrid is telling him about her life in the States and the happy childhood she spent there. He doesn't realize they arrived at the cafe until she asks him where he would like to sit. 

Henrik gestures to a table by the sidewalk. This way they could enjoy the weather but still claim some privacy. All without feeling the eyes of others on him if he were to walk into the interior of the cafe. 

“This seems as good a spot as we could hope for.” He says, pulling the chair out for Astrid.   
She, in return, gives him a raised eyebrow and an amused smile.

“I am fully capable of pulling out my own chair, you know?” 

“Oh, I know! Sometimes it's nice to remind you that you don't have to go at it alone,” he teases back. 

Astrid blinks quickly and then recovers as the realization hits her that she has been alone for a very long time. 

A waiter comes to take their order and notices Henrik’s crutches propped up against the side of the bushes next to the table.   
“War Veteran, eh?”

In Henrik’s heavily German accented French: “ Yes, I was wounded in the war.” 

A harsh gasp is heard and the waiter proceeds to start screaming at Henrik “ You murderer! How dare you show your face in FRANCE! GET OUT! GET OUT OF THIS CAFE!” 

He then turns to Astrid, “You! You would choose a nasty Kraut over a true hero of France? You WHORE!!” 

Henrik quickly gathers his crutches and moves as fast as his arms can carry him. He can’t help notice the looks of other customers. The anger and disdain for him is palpable. His heart is beating hard and he is starting to take unbearably shallow breaths. His thoughts race. This is why I didn't want to come to France in the first place. Oh gods I am what he said. I am a murderer of my own generation. I don't deserve to be here. Why did I live and others die? FUCKING HELL…

He carries himself into the next side street where he can finally escape the glare of all those eyes. Astrid only just catches up to him. When he turns around to the sound of her footsteps his eyes are feral. As if he is expecting to be attacked. 

“Oh, Henrik I’m so sorry that happened.” Astrid notices his blown pupils and erratic breathing. “Take a deep breath, it's going to be okay.” She puts a reassuring hand on his forearm. He looks down at her hand and gathers it in his own. Eyes shining with fear and anger, he squeezes tightly, finding her presence to remind him he is here now. 

“I didn’t choose this war, Astrid! I didn’t choose who died while I lived. I didn’t get to have a say in whether or not my leg went and got hacked off. I didn't know war was going to be like that I..umf..”

Astrid grabs his shoulder and catches his mouth abruptly with hers. Roughly and without finesse, her lips crash into his.

Henrik can’t figure out for a moment what is happening and then, slowly, he grabs Astrid by the waist and pulls her close. He holds onto her as if she is his last lifeline. The only thing keeping him on the earth. Otherwise, he would float away into oblivion. 

Their kiss starts out clumsy but quickly turns into something lighting them both on fire. All those years of horror and suffering culminating into this moment when everything, for once, felt good and right. 

Henrik can’t get enough of the way Astrid feels, like he was trying to solder their two beings into one entity. He moves his right hand into her hair, leaving the left firmly on her waist. He brings her lips even closer and uses his tongue to gently open her mouth and let him in. Astrid lets him. She opens her mouth and allows him to fully explore hers. This deepened kiss only amps up the already frenzied state they are finding themselves in. 

Astrid gently pushes Henrik away to catch her breath. She looks into his eyes, which were now almost black and sees the passion in them for her. Astrid is sure her eyes are reflecting something similar to him as well.

“Well that’s certainly one way to end a conversation.” Henrik chuckles, breathless.

She looks at him rather sheepishly. “I hope it was worth it seeing as it was my first.”

“You would give your first kiss to a German?”

“Yes, Henrik, even a German is worthy of my first kiss.”

He stares at her like she is the most precious thing he has ever held in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the continued support! I’ve been convinced to share that I have a tumblr and you can find me at celtictreemuffin over there. Thanks as always to my wonderful betas this story wouldn’t be what it is without you.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just stressing that if you are sensitive to topics like blood or actions of war double check the tags for any possible triggers.
> 
> There was a short hiatus in publishing this chapter I didn’t plan on taking. I plan to keep to my normal schedule of posting every other week on Wednesday. In light of the hiatus I’m publishing this chapter a few hours earlier than I would. Hope 2021 is treating you kindly. -Celtic

Astrid sits up in her bed in a cold sweat, breathing heavily and tries to allow her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Attempting to figure out where she is for a moment. The fabric of her duvet brings her back to reality and away from the battlefield. This is the dream she hasn’t had in months, not since Henrik had… No, she can't quite go there right now. Thinking about him is what had brought this dream about in the first place.

She had floated home after their kiss that afternoon, leaving a note for Gobber at the shop explaining that Henrik had a bad experience and she was going to walk back to his lodgings with him. They walked shoulder to shoulder on the way to his place, getting as close as they could, comfortably brushing their hands against each other. Seeking out the other to make sure they were still there. Hoping this wasn't a fallacy but real. As real as the click of his crutches every step he made on the cobblestone. When they finally made it to his lodgings after their leisurely stroll, both Henrik and Astrid sported infectious grins. Henrik stopped and admired Astrid, drinking her in... just in case. He told himself if this was the last breath he ever took while staring at her, he could be okay with that. He honestly didn't know if he would be able to ever breathe properly again.

Then the most curious thing happened. She tilted her head up in his direction as if both giving permission and asking…. He wasn't going to waste this moment of vulnerability in Astrid. Carefully, Henrik lifted his hand to her face, tucking the loose hair behind her ears and leaving his hand there in order to have a better hold of her face. A kiss, more tender than their first passions but just as intense because this was a deliberate act of affection. 

You would think that after a day like that, where your heart is soaring, where you can still feel the imaginary ghost of his pressure on your lips, and you can't stop smiling when his face appears in your mind's eye, your brain wouldn't conjure the worst possible scenario when you fall asleep. 

Astrid is back there. The sounds of gunfire, whistles, young men calling for their mother. It always starts the same. It's the moment she knows: the battle is underway. She steels herself for the wave of the wounded, the metallic smell of blood, the shouts of “Nurse Hofferson!”. It had been one of those long nights during the Battle of Passchendaele that she always tormented herself with. The one where many German soldiers needed tending to. She had been serving as a nurse for months at that point and while she had gotten used to the work it never became easier to watch the suffering.

The optimistic girl that had crossed the Atlantic was beaten out of her and the new Astrid emerged hardened and twisted into Nurse Hofferson. 

War is raging, men are being rushed in on gurneys if they’re lucky, most coming in on the backs of their fellow soldiers. Astrid serves in the triage unit, part of her job is to assess who has a chance of survival and who the doctors should put their time into trying to save. She feels like the mortal Thanatos . The bearer of the final ruling on a life and whether a young man got to keep living it. She used to joke to herself in the quiet period after the battle that she felt the presence of her old friend coming to claim those she hadn't already passed judgment on.

This particular night, several German POWs are brought in after a raid on one of their trenches having been deemed successful. The hopes of the higher ups: that they could be used for information if they survived. The state of these soldiers is appalling, not just from the wounds they received but their overall condition. As Astrid cuts off clothes to better examine them, all she can see are bones jutting out of the skin and concave bellies. If conditions are thought to be bad for the allied forces it seems as though the Germans are faring off even worse. The states of the wounds make it too hard to tell if anyone really considers them to be valuable tools of information or just bags of bones to take out pent up frustrations on. 

In the sad excuse for a hospital, a threadbare canvas tent, Astrid is concerned. One particular soldier has a very deep abdominal wound, most likely from a bayonet. The thing Astrid has learned as a nurse is that there's this weird sense of calm and quiet that takes over. Time slows down and you detach from the person in front of you and just see the injury and how best to treat it. Astrid knows she needs to thrust her hands deep into his stomach. She could see his intestines wanting to escape from the cavity where they were usually housed. The amount of blood and torn muscle made it hard to pinpoint where the source of bleeding was coming from. Astrid keeps her hands on his stomach in a futile attempt to keep the blood loss to a minimum, all the while looking frantically around for the next available doctor who can see him...even though she knows they are never coming. In order to keep him from going into shock Astrid just talks to him. 

She asks him his name “Wie heissen Sie?” 

“Ich heisse Ernst.”

“Ernst'' she says in English, having exhausted her limited German. 

“Stay with me and we will get you better” Ernst switchs into English “I need to get back to her. Will you tell her I love her? I was a fool…” he cuts himself off by coughing up blood.

“I will stay with you as long as the Virgin Mary allows me.” 

Lifting his arm slightly and pointing to the corner, he whispers hoarsely “She is there smiling at me she looks a lot like meine Mutter… mir ist kalt.”

The jolt that goes through Astrid as she realizes Ernst is fading almost paralyzes her into inaction. He is not going to get better. She would be damned if she didn’t try though. So many had already been lost, why can’t he be spared? 

Disregarding all medical etiquette, Astrid starts to shout. “Doctor he’s going into shock.. Please somebody help me… God dammit SOMEONE help HIM!” When her pleas fall on deaf ears and her voice is raw, she looks down at Ernst to see he has already passed into the veil… this time though, she sees Henrik in Ernst’s uniform with blood trickingling from his mouth, his eyes open but sightless to this world and Astrid’s hands still firmly on his wound. 

A loud scream pierces through the night, only to realize, it has come from her.

“NO, not Henrik please God not Henrik” She sobs. “...I just found him! I don't want to be alone anymore.” Looking down, all Astrid sees is the blood on her hands, Henrik’s lifeforce, now snuffed out, and she isn’t able to save him. 

Tears start streaming down her face...


	5. Chapter 5

When Henrik got back to his room at the boarding house he saw that a letter had arrived from home. Curious how he hadn’t thought of his parents as often as he thought he might have. But he guessed that when they send you into the arms of a golden valkyrie, one might be allowed to forget who they are, let alone those back home.

He couldn’t shake the beauty of her out of his head. The way she tucked her hair behind her slightly too big ears, how she stuck out the tip of her tongue when she was concentrating on something important in the shop. Her unwavering support of him today blew him away. He had been her enemy not that long ago and there she was today seeing him for who he was and not how the world saw him. Henrik picked up the letter on his desk lazily and noticed the writing was his mother's. She wasn't one to put pen to paper often. His father was normally the one to update him on the happenings at home. 

Hello Darling boy,

I’m sure you are surprised to see that I’m writing to you. Your father has been very busy as of late. I hated to think of you alone and lacking news in Paris and took it upon myself to drop you a line. Koblenz is sleepy as always. The most exciting thing to happen recently was when Mrs. Müller’s cow escaped its pen and caused havoc in the Göbenplatz. Many of the local men including your favorite Uncle Kotzbakke were bested by her and ended up face down in the dirt. The retelling proved to be a testimony to your father and I’s acting capabilities when he told us. We couldn't wait to burst out in laughter almost the moment the door locked. We were red faced and struggling to breathe. 

I hope this letter finds you in good spirits and I will write to you again soon!

Ich hoffe dich bald wiederzusehen,  
deine dich liebende Mutter

Henrik did enjoy the story of his odious Uncle Kotzbakke. A very spiteful man being taken down a notch by a cow. He thought of getting to tell Astrid all about it tomorrow and how much she might enjoy it. He hadn't told Astrid that much about his life before coming to Paris, even though he obviously had given her the basic detail where he was from, that he was an only child, and that he was a pilot during the war. He felt like he had not colored in his life for her though, with the people who raised him, his childhood friends, or the position he held in his town.This left him wanting to tell her more,share more,have her fully know him. But he also felt that his life was very grey until he had met her. Henrik had an idyllic childhood and the kinds of dreams that young men have... But then the war happened. 

Thoughts of being a hero, getting a chance to see the world, to make something of himself were destroyed. His reality became despair, crippling fear, and darkness. He had lost his youth but now he was creating a new version. Astrid was not just building him a new leg; she was giving his sore heart the balm it so badly needed. Henrik settled himself for bed and dreamed of flashes of intense blue that focused on him. 

~~~¥¥¥~~~

When Henrik walked out the door of his lodgings the next morning he was shocked to see Astrid across the street. She looked harried and a bit spooked, like she was Astrid but the life had drained out of her. Once she saw Henrik she rushed into his arms and held on as if he was a specter that may dissolve at any moment. He was worried he would have Astrid shaped fingertip bruises on his back when he realized he heard crying deep gasping breaths of grief. Softly, as if not to disturb anyone. This woman who was strength incarnate was sobbing in his arms, saying over and over again “You’re safe, you’re alive..” 

“Astrid, dear one, what has happened? Are you hurt?”  
Darker thoughts flashing before his eyes.  
“Has someone hurt you? Astrid?” he held her tightly with his free arm nuzzling his face into her soft flaxen hair, trying his best to soothe her.

“I’m fine.” she said through broken breaths.

She looked up at him, finally able to compose herself. What he saw in her eyes frightened him. It was the look of men after escaping near death during a dogfight, the look of seeing death, the wild-eyed look of loss. He knew that no matter how she responded, what she had experienced had been worse. He was seeing her shell shock and it had something to do with him. 

Astrid felt like a complete and utter fool. A safe and relieved fool. She knew he was okay and that her dream wasn't real. She could smell him, touch him, see him. The cathartic crying left her feeling settled and content. For the first time in her life, she felt she was found. Not that she had ever been lost but that she was known. Not the daughter of Norweigan immigrants, nor the red cross nurse but just as she had always been... Astrid.

How in such a short time had this person looking down at her with concerned eyes become home…?

Henrik noticed Astrid was looking more like herself and less like the frightened creature he had held only moments ago. 

“Astrid I think we should talk. But not here okay?”

“Yes, you are right, I've made quite the display of emotion haven't I?” She wiped the trail of tears and laughed half heartedly. 

“That’s not what I meant Astrid, and you know it… just I think there are big conversations to be had that I’d rather not have on the street.” He pulled her a little tighter to him and steeled himself for what he knew was coming.

“I think I saw a park back there. I'm sure we can find a bench to sit and talk privately.” She offered. Astrid had not been prepared to hear what he was about to share.


	6. Chapter 6

“I think I saw a park back there. I'm sure we can find a bench to sit and talk privately ” Astrid says, only looking at Henrik through her eyelashes.

“Lead the way, Milady.” He motions while sweeping his hand forward in an awkward bow.

They find a park bench fairly easily; it is early enough that no one else is around for them to be disturbed. Hiccup gestures for Astrid to sit first, he then follows suit and leans his cane up against the arm of the bench. 

“Astrid, I don’t know where to start but I think you and I have shared experiences and maybe it would help if I told you mine.” 

“Henrik you don't have..”

“Astrid, I do. I'm beginning to see that we both might be in need of lightening the load of our minds” 

Henrik wipes his sweating palms on his trousers, takes a deep breath and looks Astrid straight in the eye knowing what he says next isn’t just for him.

“I think you are aware of my basic service record. Pilot for the Luftstreitkrafte, flew several reconnaissance missions, gathered information about the movements of Allied troops and fought in my fair share of dogfights with your boys.”

“Yes, I was able to gather that it was your participation during the war.” Astrid responds with a cheeky smile.

Henrik throws her a knowing look and continues.

“See, but that's just how it reads on paper. It doesn't explain any of the experiences that I actually had. I know it has to be the same for you. Red Cross nurse from the United States who was on the front line for most of the war. Astrid the things we saw… the people...gods, the people we lost.” He says in a whisper as the images flood in front of him.

“I haven't ever told anyone because I can barely believe it all happened, let alone try to convince someone who wasn't there that it did.” 

~~~¥¥¥~~~

It was a dark grey day; one that wouldn’t be out of place in a gothic novel setting, waiting for some phantom spirit or crazy woman in an attic to appear. Henrik and his squad were waiting to hear if they would be flying out that day or not. The conditions weren't the best but sometimes that played in their favor, because they could gather information without much resistance from the other side. 

Sitting in the canvas tent, waiting on hard wooden chairs made Henrik irritable. He would rather be back in his warm barrack under his blanket helping to sleep off the hangover from last night. Instead, he was restless just hanging around for Staffelkapitän Moers. He usually liked the man. He had funny stories to share and kept their spirits up. Today, Henrik just wanted the answer of how long of a delay there was before getting back to his bed. Henrik looked over to his friend Matthias and tried to see if he was faring any better. This just continued to annoy him because his friend looked fresh as a daisy and Henrik began to suspect that Matthias had over served him last night while playing cards and had only drank water, himself.

“Fucking Prussian.” Henrik grimaced inwardly. Matthias Fischbein chose that exact moment to throw Henrik his most shit eating grin. This only confirmed his suspicions. Yes, he definitely got the screwed over. He couldn't help but chuckle lightly. Henrik knew moving forward to be more leary of his bunkmate and best friend. 

They had met at the beginning of the war and would constantly try to outdo the other during flight training, seeing who had the stronger stomach when it came to barrel rolls and the like. Ultimately, this is what made them such a good team in the air. They always pushed the other to be the best they could and had each other's backs completely. Now, three grueling years later and a few kilos lighter, they were the last of their original flight class. Pilots had very short life expectancies but somehow they had clawed their way to defying those odds. 

Staffelkapitän Moers finally made his way into the tent lifting the flap with a booming “Hallo crew!” Henrik thought he might just lose his breakfast on the ground from the jarring loud noise that rang in his ears. “Good Morning! Today High Command has asked if we would take some aerial shots of the surrounding area to see if there are any troop movements.”

“So the same as yesterday and the day before?” piped up a now annoyed Matthias.

“Ah yes,” Staffelkapitän responded.

“Why don’t we just send them the pictures that Thorston took yesterday? Maybe do something actually worth getting ourselves killed over.” Henrik catches ‘Hias’s eyes in agreement. They are all just so tired of the constant disconnect between ineffective leaders and those who served under them.

“Anyways…” Staffelkapitän Moers continued, “We only need to send two of you out there today and I think Matthias has already volunteered himself.” 

Matthias and Henrik groaned. Henrik knew this meant he was going up there today because there was no way that he would let his friend go out with anyone else. 

“Thank you boys for your service. The rest of you are dismissed.”

Henrik threw Matthias a “good going” look and continued walking to his barracks to grab his coat, cap and goggles that he’d need up in the air.

The boys busied themselves checking over every detail of their plane to make sure that everything was in tip top shape. The last thing an airman wants to experience up in the air is a minor problem with their aircraft that then turns into a major problem off the ground. 

Henrik buckled himself into this black “Night Fury.” 

He yelled over to Matthias, “You ready yet? Have the camera and enough firepower to see you through in case we meet trouble?”

“Just about. This girl is almost ready to go. Aren’t you, Meatlug?” Matthias confirmed, slapping the nose of his plane.

Henrik for the life of him never understood why his vegetarian friend had decided to name his plane Meatlug of all things.

They both pushed on their propellers to get the planes going and hopped into their seats.

Henrik adjusted his goggles and waved at Matthias signaling he was all set. 

They took off on the field turned runway and were finally in the air.

It was amazing how quickly the temperature changed when you got up near the clouds. It was already a cold spring day but this was just bitter. As if you were climbing in the snow capped alps.

Thankfully, today was routine at this point. Get to your desired location, take a few pictures and you’d be back in time for lunch. Nothing too hard or tactical, just a straightforward mission.

Or so they thought.

They made their way over to the French troop lines and as Matthias took a few photos out of the side of his plane, Henrik heard a noise that made his stomach drop.

It was the faint sound of an engine and considering they were gliding, it was instantly obvious the sound came from somewhere else. Henrik knew it was not friendly and became immediately on guard, looking all around him to figure out which angle they were flying in from.

They heard the gun fire before they saw the French planes. Matthias caught Henrik’s eye and gestured a frantic Let’s get the fuck out of here. They both moved quickly towards their air base.

Nearing an open field.

French planes blasted behind them. 

BWOOOSH!

Henrik turned to see Matthias’ plane’s nose completely engulfed in flames.The fire spread quickly moving from the engine over the canvas metal frame and making its way to the small windshield and Matthias’ legs… torso…

Henrik watched in complete horror as his friend was scrambling out of the way of the fire despite knowing there was no escape and being fully aware of the pain and horrible death he was experiencing. The look in Matthias’ eyes was unlike anything Henrik had ever seen. This was not a pleasant death. This was not just simply slipping away. This was actively fighting a losing battle and not being able to avoid the suffering. The burning...oh gods the burning… his skin started to melt off his skeleton all while screaming and his plane heading towards the ground. 

Henrik couldn’t hear his screams but he wasn’t spared any other part of his friend's terrible death. He wondered later on why Matthias hadn’t shot himself first before letting the fire consume him but figured that he must not have brought his pistol in order to spare himself that particular death. 

Henrik didn’t realize that his plane was also going down as if following his friend into the underworld to meet their fates together. He must have been hit on the tail of his plane. Not registering that he had to try and make a landing with little control over direction while actively trying to avoid the fireball that was Matthias’ plane now. Henrik might have realized, too, that his plane had been dented on his left side, if only his mind hadn’t been preoccupied.

Henrik woke up three days later crying out “ ‘Hias…’Hias where are you?!?”. 

Only reaching consciousness when the tears started pooling around his ears making him uncomfortably wet. He lifted his head up slowly and looked down the length of his body to see there was a gap in the blanket where his left leg should have been.


	7. Chapter 7

Astrid stares up at him knowing pain is freely flowing from her eyes. She knows he has lost his leg; that is what they spent everyday trying to replace. But to hear how he had lost his limb is a completely different thing. She feels so stupid thinking back to their first meeting and her examination saying what a good job some surgeon had done on him. Astrid squeezes the bench’s armrest trying to compose herself and failing.

“Oh Henrik, oh gods…”

Henrik shushes her quietly, not ready to be comforted by her words, knowing there is more to say. Softly, he wipes the tears from her face leaving his hand there a moment longer than necessary, trying to draw strength from her to continue.

“I went to visit Matthias' parents soon after I was brought back to Germany. I found his confirmation cross amongst his things that I thought his mother might want, since there would not be a body to bury. A token of his that if they were going to dig a damn hole in the ground might as well have something of his to put in it.” Astrid hears the bitterness coloring his voice.

“I don’t know why I went, Astrid!” Henrik says, dropping his head in his hands. Astrid is about to reach out to comfort him, but then she hears a sharp intake of his breath as he quickly jerks his head up, almost ripping the hair from his head. 

“I think I was hoping to see Matthias again in a small way.” He scoffs. 

“It just felt like something I had to do. Gods I wish I hadn't…” Henrik chokes out.

“It was unbearable. His parents lived in Meißen in this tiny flat with four other brothers. I remember thinking I might recognize him in his brothers. But the dark blanket of grief muted any sense of the life Matthias might have lived there.”

Henrik’s voice turning into an anguished whisper. “I couldn't look his mother in the eye. She was this short woman who lived a life dwarfed by the men in her life and now one was missing. I felt like all she wanted from me was to come and say that the reports were wrong and that ‘Hias would be home any day.”

The scene appears before Henrik’s eyes.

Matthias’ parents greet him at the door and he’s got that blasted cross in his coat pocket all ready to give them. He wants nothing more than to just shove it at them and hobble away. Instead, he finds himself being ushered in to sit on the couch in the living room. Henrik is only able to move slowly, having just learned how to use his crutches. He tries to avoid seeing the looks of discomfort in their eyes at his disability. 

The room is immediately filled with people. Matthias’ brothers, being bigger than the space, somehow makes it feel like Henrik is suffocating. They are all looking at him waiting for him to speak and he can't bring himself to start the conversation. Henrik can’t take his eyes off Mrs. Fischbeine her eyes, filled with tears. 

Then, she asks him the one thing he hoped his family wouldn’t. “How did it happen? How did our Matthias die?”

It is all he can do to not fling himself from the couch and start screaming. The last thing Henrik wants to do is tell these poor grieving parents that their child had died one of the most horrific deaths imaginable to their faces. So he does the only thing he can do and lies. Lies through his trauma, his grief, and any sense of loyalty to his friend and LIES.

“He died a hero's death; full of valor and you should be so proud of him.” 

He hears these words being said but they aren't coming from him consciously. All he can hear is the pounding of his heart wanting to break free of his chest and the claminess of his hands touching the cross that is in his pocket that he needs to be rid of NOW!

“I found this amongst his things and thought that you might want to have it.” Not even able to put it in the woman’s hands, just leaving it out there in the open on the wooden coffee table between them. 

He leaves, barely making it to the stairs before tears push their way to the surface, stinging with their arrival. 

He returned home to Koblenz. 

Henrik feels a slight breeze on his face and hears the birds chirping in the park making him aware he is no longer in Germany. 

“I was no longer any good to my country and was a shameful open secret of the mighty Fatherland’s reality”

“Astrid, I HAD IT GOOD! I wasn't shunned by my parents and left for the state to take care of. Yet I was so twisted and angry. I didn't feel like me anymore. My insides were a mess of a bleeding wound that couldn't be contained and then I had to see other people living out their lives like nothing was happening. That life could just move forward while I was drowning in my own self contempt.”

There are tears in Henrik’s eyes but Astrid can’t see them through her own. She hasn’t lost a limb but she knows the loss that Henrik speaks of. The loss of yourself and your ability to show that new person to anyone else.

Astrid wipes her eyes and takes a steadying breath. She reaches for Henrik’s head in warmly holding his face in her hands, looks him dead in the eyes and with a shaky voice says, “You are known Henrik Haddock, you are seen, you couldn’t have saved him.” 

Astrid kisses him. It is a tender kiss, full of heartbreak. 

The feelings Henrik experiences almost frightened him more than any dogfight he found himself in during the War. He is being ripped open by the truth not having to hide it anymore. He would never have to hide from Astrid Hofferson. That is the scariest thing in the world. He doesn't want to lose that and isn't sure he can protect himself from that. 

~~~¥¥¥~~~

The morning grows older and they decide to walk around the city a bit. It gives them the chance to clear some of the cobwebs out and just be with each other. This time, they avoid crowded areas, not wanting to invite another incident like they had at the cafe. 

The day is spent in a game of stolen kisses. Henrik quickly grabs her waist and swings her around a street corner. Astrid pulls his hat off to cover her kiss by the Seine. While they walk she thinks back to the morning, the things he said, and he feels lighter to her somehow. But she can feel the weight of her unspoken words. 

They get bolder as the day goes by. Henrik sees if he can catch a kiss and perhaps a breathless laugh from her. Astrid hoping to see the pink blush highlighting his freckles when she lightly pulls the hair at the nape of his neck while trying to deepen a kiss. Slowly but surely making their way back to Astrid’s lodgings, stopping only to share a bit of bread and cheese as they make memories in the city where they found each other. Astrid desperately hopes that these memories will replace the darker ones they both share. 

When they finally reach Madame Gothi’s, it's with great reluctance on both their parts that they have to say goodnight. 

Henrik stands in the doorway, looking for any reason to stay, knowing he won’t but isn't quite ready to stop looking at this fierce beauty in front of him.

“Henrik...” gods he loves the way she says his name with her strong American accent.   
Astrid gives him a funny look like he’s somewhere else. He brings himself back to what she is saying.

“Henrik, after such a terrible night, you turned this day into one I wont forget for a very long time. Thank you.” Sincerity flowing through her sapphire eyes.

“Oh..um.. You’re welcome. I mean, it was really wonderful for me too. Gute Nacht, Astrid.” 

He leans in for one last kiss, knowing it’s not enough. Henrik brushes the hair from her face, pouring all the love he can into his gaze and captures her lips with his. Astrid sighs contentedly against his mouth. And then he’s gone, leaving Astrid in a bit of a lovesick stupor. 

She opens the door, hoping very much that Madame Gothi isn't snooping and when she sees the coast is clear, makes her way up to her room. 

Astrid sees the unmade bed; her fears, from the night before, stopping her in her tracks. She knows she can't shake the dream off entirely. As relieved as she is that Henrik is actually alive and not dead, like in her dream, his admission from early makes it feel almost closer, somehow. 

They saw death. It was real. Not an imagination on their parts. It is harder for her to let him into her experience without feeling like he is vulnerable to her pain. She isn’t sure if she is ready to let him know that she loves him enough to be terrified of losing him. And she doesn't think she can talk about her dream without telling him so. He has been so vulnerable so open with her and yet… all she has to offer him is someone who is hurting as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my dear friends Laura and Croc for agreeing to beta and championing this story for the last year. I couldn’t have done it without you both. Love you tremendously and words fail me to express my true gratitude.
> 
> Thank you as well to my sweetest fluffiest softest PG for helping me with some of the more difficult bits of language.


End file.
